


Doomfingered

by SilentJ43



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Artistic Liberties, Crack, Out of Character, Psychological Warfare, Sexual Humor, Slapstick, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentJ43/pseuds/SilentJ43
Summary: The Man. The Legend. Doomfist is back, his golden gauntlet is in gear, and everyone wants a piece. Join Overwatch’s sexiest scoundrel as he embarks on a quest to kick ass, take names, and maybe even get a little action in on the side, if you know what I mean ;)Warning: Contains metal objects entering bodily orifices, read at your own discretion.---------------





	Doomfingered

Chapter 1: King’s Hole

 

The afternoon sun was hot on the streets of King’s Row. Sirens blared and fires raged as the tall, black statue of perfection rampaged through the city. With a swing of his arm, another overturned car. With a swift jab, another storefront window shattered. And anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves in his path was quickly swept aside like trash. The man was on a mission and no one could stop him.

 

Before long, the whirring blades of a helicopter could be heard in the distance. It wasn't long before it closed in on Doomfist’s position and its spotlight shone harshly in his eyes. “Cheers, love!” Came a familiar voice over a megaphone. The helicopter's door swung open and a female figure somersaulted down, landing on the street in front of him in perfect acrobatic style.

 

“...The cavalry’s here!” Tracer finished, looking Doomfist in the eyes with a smirk.

 

“Lena Oxton,” greeted Doomfist. “Where are your friends? You know you don't stand a chance against me alone. Or did you just come to chat?”

 

“Hm, I don't think so,” decided Tracer, sassily placing her hands on her hips. “I doubt a chat with you would be very pleasant. I’d rather cut straight to the action.”

 

“Very well, then I’ll give you what you desire. A swift grave.” Doomfist readied his battle stance and began to charge the rocket capacitors in his titanic clutch of metal.

 

“Who said anything about that?” asked Tracer, turning her back on her assailant while the weapon charged. She grabbed the waistband of her bright orange tights and began to slide them down, revealing her tight, naked ass and smooth legs. As her tights dropped to her ankles, she remained bent over and spread her ass cheeks seductively, letting Doomfist ogle her athletic nether regions. “What I'd _rather_ have is your big metal fist straight up me arse hole.” She glanced back at him with an eager grin.

 

“You dare mock me, puny child?” grunted Doomfist impatiently. Before Tracer could open her mouth halfway to answer, the fist discharged its energy, slamming its full weight into Tracer’s spine. This caused several permanent injuries in addition to paralysis below the waist. Her unconscious body tumbled across the ground, eventually coming to rest next to a heap of rubble. “Pathetic,” remarked the triumphant Doomfist.

 

“Hold it!” called a gruff voice from the helicopter. A zip line dropped down, and a fully-geared-up Soldier 76 slid down on it. Within seconds his rifle was aimed at Doomfist’s head. The tall, African god of a man was not intimidated by this gesture.

 

“Seems like you were a bit late to help, old man,” taunted Doomfist.

 

Soldier flicked up the safety on his rifle and loaded in three primed rockets. “She was just a girl, Doomfist. You took things too far. You should know that a young, inexperienced ass like hers wouldn't be able to handle your entire robotic fist inside of it.”

 

Doomfist stared blankly. “Uhh…”

 

“The only way I can make it up to her now is to finish what she started.” Soldier 76 tossed his gun to the side. The rockets were loosed from the impact and completely blew a nearby bus stop shelter to pieces. In moments, Soldier 76 skillfully unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall, exposing his grey, hairy legs.

 

“What the hell is this?!” asked Doomfist angrily. He began to charge up his fist again.

 

Soldier 76 turned around and placed a hand on his ass, gripping a pockmarked buttcheek. “A hardened veteran ass like mine should be able to get the job done.”

 

“Shut up.” demanded the insulted Doomfist, his fist vibrating with energy.

 

“Come on, slam that huge fist of yours right in me. Tactical anus activated.” Soldier 76 stretched his legs and buttcheeks apart, revealing his depressing asshole and horrible wrinkled balls.

 

“No,” replied Doomfist, discharging his fist again. The steel boulder pounded against Soldier 76’s skull and split it open. He immediately faceplanted and skidded along the asphalt, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

 

The unpiloted helicopter slowly drifted to the side until it eventually collided with a nearby building, which caused a spectacular amount of debris to fly, and ended with a large explosion. “Fucking Overwatch,” spat Doomfist, shaking his head. “I need a drink.” The ebony behemoth sauntered off, confused and disgusted, deciding to save the rest of his rampage for another day.

  


 

 

Chapter 2: Fist of the Dragon

 

“I just don't understand Overwatch’s motivations anymore,” pondered Doomfist to himself as he sat alone, sipping a bottle of sake in a Hanamura bar he had all but destroyed. “I don’t even think they were trying to stop me. They were just hurling insults like kids on the playground.” The Japanese atmosphere helped to calm his troubled mind. He sighed and chugged the rest of the bottle, and left a 10,000 yen tip for the dead bartender. Upon exiting, he noticed the familiar sound of arrow striking sword from a nearby mansion. Curious, he went to investigate.

 

“I wonder if those two Shimada brothers are trying to kill each other again,” mused Doomfist. “That might be entertaining.” Sure enough, as soon as he stepped through the door, there were Hanzo and Genji clashing weapons in an epic, emotionally fueled duel.

 

“Brother!” pleaded Genji to his irritated sibling. “You need to realize that I am the true heir to the Fist of the Dragon! You cannot change fate by fighting it!” He unleashed a stream of shurikens, which Hanzo deftly avoided.

 

“Fist of the dragon?” wondered Doomfist. “Is that a new thing of theirs?”

 

“Silence, fiend!” demanded Hanzo, responding with his own volley of arrows. “You are a fraud who can never be worthy. My ass shall be the one to take in the Dragon's Fist.”

 

Doomfist cringed. “And just what the hell do you mean by the Dragon's Fist?”

 

The two brothers immediately stopped brawling upon hearing the velvety voice of the dark-skinned champion and dropped to the floor, kneeling in respect. “Doomfist-sama!” They chanted in unison.

 

“We humbly seek your guidance, oh great one,” requested Genji. “We need you to decide which one of us deserves to have your legendary fist thrust into us.”

 

“I cannot except that my failure of a brother is up to this task,” claimed Hanzo, stubbornly. “Please, Master Doomfist, choose my ass as the one to receive the full force of your fist.”

 

Doomfist stood concerned and dumbfounded. “...are you actually being serious?”

 

“This issue is of the utmost importance!” assured Genji. “I present my offering to you, master.” Genji drew his sword, and with a barely-visible flurry of slashes, shredded the portion of steel armor covering the remains of his human ass. Some unidentifiable wires and tubes were feeding into what Doomfist could only assume was Genji’s anus. “My cyborg-augmented rear is superior to my brother's. It awaits your fist, master.”

 

“Nonsense,” blurted Hanzo. He deftly leaned backward and shot an arrow expertly down the back seam of his own pants, which flapped open with excellent presentation. His muscular buttocks flexed brilliantly. “This ass was honed by years of strict adherence to the Shimada family tradition of training one's inner self.”

 

“I don't care,” retorted Doomfist, who performed a Rising Uppercut and then rocket-punched both brothers’ limp bodies out of a nearby window. “That should solve your little argument, you idiots.”

 

“Personally, I would not have chosen such a violent means of ending their dispute,” remarked the voice of an Omnic from behind Doomfist. There floated Zenyatta silently, his orbs revolving around him slowly.

 

Doomfist turned to face the meditating robot. “So what? Do you have a problem with that?” He raised his fist to suggest that Zenyatta was next on his punching list.

 

“On the contrary,” explained Zenyatta. “You are the one who possesses a deep inner conflict. Let me show you the path to true enlightenment.” Zenyatta turned to float robotic-ass first toward Doomfist, his orbs revolving around it in a circle to add to its presentation. “Pass into the iris,” he advised, summoning two holographic glowing arms, about to slip down his trousers.

 

“Fuck off,” Doomfist also advised, before punching the lower half of Zenyatta’s body clean off. His orbs scattered, and his voice module made a few crackling noises before his torso clanked onto the floor. Doomfist angrily trudged toward the door.

 

“Hey, Chill out!” chanted someone else from the shadows. A wall of ice suddenly rose from the floor, blocking the exit.

 

“Unlikely,” answered Doomfist, wasting no time in charging up his rocket punch before turning around. Mei pranced toward him gleefully.

 

“I’m not here to fight, don't worry,” explained Mei. “I’m just here for that a-Mei-zing fist you have!”

 

“Oh believe me, I’m worried at this point,” assured Doomfist. “What the hell is so appealing about my fist to you?”

 

“What do you mean? It’s super-cool!” praised Mei. She removed her pants seductively, revealing her full, plump ass. “It's huge, sexy, and made of cold, hard steel.”

 

“And you want me to attempt to shove it up your ass, despite it being obviously much too big to fit.”

 

“It is not,” argued Mei, giving her pudgy ass a shake. “You just have cold feet, don't you?”

 

The dark-skinned deity, more tired of her puns than anything, shot a hand-cannon blast into her cryo-fuel tank, which exploded and contorted Mei's spine awfully before freezing her into a huge block of ice, trapping her in a horribly pained expression and pose. He then smashed through the icy blockade and set his sights elsewhere.

 

“Someone has to be behind this sick joke,” thought Doomfist to himself. “And I’m going to find out who.”

  


 

 

Chapter 3: Omnifist

 

As Doomfist arrived at Numbani airport, memories began to flood back. This was, after all, the place he went on a massive assault to retrieve the fist of his namesake. Perhaps someone from here still held a grudge against him, and was orchestrating a grand scheme to humiliate and defame him. “La lo lee,” sang Doomfist to himself, fantasizing about the pain and suffering he’d bring to whoever was behind it all.

 

As Doomfist approached the airport security terminal, he was flagged down and asked to go through a security screening. Not wanting to cause a scene quite yet, he agreed. Someone familiar was waiting for him at the metal detector gate.

 

“Bleep bloop beep!” greeted Bastion, all painted up to look like he was wearing a work uniform, with his little bird friend perched on his shoulder.

 

“Huh, well then,” said the befuddled Nigerian warlord. “I never imagined you would have so little to do that you would actually make use of Numbani’s equal opportunity employment.”

 

“Blip blop,” Bastion explained. He motioned for Doomfist to step through the gate, who obliged. The gate’s alarm light lit up and a buzzer sounded.

 

“You had to have seen this coming,” complained Doomfist, pointing at his Gauntlet.

 

“Dweedle beep beep,” instructed Bastion, nodding.

 

“I can't understand your robot noises,” argued Doomfist, getting a bit angry. “What do I do? Do you expect me to put this through the xray machine?” Doomfist glanced over at said device, which was intended for small items.

 

“Dootley-doot dee-doo!” chanted Bastion suddenly. He began to reconfigure his chassis into a new shape via a very long and complicated transformation sequence, while his bird friend fluttered nearby. Doomfist observed warily. When the sequence was done, Bastion’s body was mostly the same as it was before, except the barrel of his tank cannon was hastily jammed between his legs, pointing out behind him. The bird perched on the end of it and gestured with its wings as if to say “please enter”, while Bastion bent over.

 

Doomfist gritted his teeth and twitched. “Okay, I'm giving you literally ONE chance. Explain yourself. Now.”

 

“Bleepity blap blat!” replied Bastion. Doomfist gave him a seismic slam, crumpling the robot like an aluminum can. He then folded the result in half a few times until it was a good size to fit through the scanner. The bird perched on the metal lump and started pecking it as it rolled along the scanner’s conveyor belt.

 

Doomfist slowly navigated the airport terminal, wondering where his first stop in Numbani should be. Before he got too far, another individual suddenly ran out from the inside of a gift shop and confronted the seven-foot stud.

 

“Doomfist, there you are!” greeted Symmetra with her trademark shit-eating grin. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I have something for you.”

 

“Is it an explanation for why everyone is trying to get me to anally fist them with my gauntlet?” hoped Doomfist.

 

“Even better,” assured Symmetra. “It's the ultimate creation, an ass constructed to be scientifically perfect, the absolute specimen of rectal perfection.” Her robe suddenly fizzled out on command, leaving her naked, and she phased into existence a hyper-ass made of hard light, projected onto her own ass. It was a good four feet wide, glowing and translucent, and looked completely ridiculous on her. Notably, its asshole was still just Symmetra’s own, only the butt cheeks were actually enlarged.

 

“Wrong answer,” declared Doomfist, who picked up Symmetra by the waist and threw her face-first at a trash can. Her legs and hyper-ass protruded out of it while she drowned unconscious in garbage.

 

“Wait just minute!” shouted yet another voice. Doomfist turned to see Zarya stumbling toward Doomfist, track pants already down around her ankles and lugging her enormous gun.

 

“Why does everyone want me to fist their ass!? Tell me!!” demanded Doomfist, wasting no time with the Russian bodybuilder.

 

“What you should be asking,” began Zarya, “Is why you not fisting my ass already?” She flexed, showing off the incredible tone of her finely chiseled buttocks. “Obviously this is perfect ass. Not a finer one in whole world.”

 

“No, fuck you! Just tell me!” Doomfist was sweating with frustration and rage.

 

“Seem like you need some encouragement. Let me show you how we do it in Mother Russia!” With this, Zarya lifted her gun over her head and launched a graviton surge at her own asshole. This was an incredibly stupid thing to do, and it began to essentially turning her ass inside out in a spectacular display of gore and body horror.

 

“Meteor Strike!” shouted Doomfist, cleverly deciding to get the fuck out of that particular situation, and launched up out of the airport's roof. He touched back down a good 100 feet away just to be safe and didn't look behind him. He was shaking. “This is insane,” he thought. “She just killed herself. What the fuck is going on? Someone has to know!” He started jogging toward the airport exit in a panic.

 

At the exit, he saw a ray of hope. There stood Orisa, cheerily handing out airport maps and information booklets to passers by, most likely as volunteer work or for goodwill. “That OR15!” said Doomfist to himself excitedly. “The same model omnic as the all the ones I destroyed years ago when I went to reclaim my gauntlet. Surely she will still recognize me as an enemy and won't be a part of this charade.” Doomfist gathered his swagger and prepared to confront the heavily armed security robot.

 

“Oh!” exclaimed Orisa as she noticed the meaty muscleman heading in her direction. She turned to face him. “I believe you are Mr. Doomfist, are you not?”

 

“Indeed, I am,” verified Doomfist, clenching his namesake and smirking. “The Successor. The renowned terrorist. The man who is going to change world with his fist. Does that strike fear into your heart, Omnic?”

 

“Hmm,” pondered Orisa. “I don't believe so. I think it would be more appropriate to describe this emotion I am feeling as 'excitement’.” Her eyes formed a carat shape, to indicate her positive emotional state.

 

“Excitement at the prospect of a battle?” Doomfist persisted, assuming a combat stance and making some cool noises with his augmentations. “Come on, I dare you to try and protect this pathetic city you call your home from my unmatched power and fury. Raise your weapon!” He shot a few hand cannon blasts at some video advertisement screens, raining shards of glass down upon a pedestrian walkway.

 

Orisa did not react to this in the slightest. “Unfortunately, such an activity is not outlined in my primary directive,” she explained. “Although it is indeed fortunate that you have arrived, because my primary directive does involve you.”

 

“Are you going to try to apprehend me, then? Force me to surrender my weapon? Make me apologize for my past crimes?” Doomfist was desperately grasping at straws.

 

“All of the suggestions you have listed are incorrect, I am afraid,” apologized Orisa.

 

“What then?!” shouted a defeated Doomfist with both fists clenched. “Just say it already!!”

 

“Mr. Doomfist, I require your cybernetic gauntlet to be inserted into my rectum,” requested Orisa. “It is of the utmost priority. Your cooperation in this task will be greatly appreciated.” She waddled around as she said this, facing her posterior in the direction of her requested support.

 

Doomfist was visibly unstable at this point, shaking and infuriated. “Y-you… you…” he stammered, attempting to form a coherent thought. He could only stare in contempt at the tenth rear-end he had been presented with in much too short of a timespan. His rage focused on a single point and he finally found his words.

 

“You don't even have a rectum!!” he sputtered, bewildered at the sheer stupidity of the situation. “What fucking hole on your goddamn metal exterior do you expect me to ram my fist into?!”

 

“Oh!” gasped a surprised Orisa, who evidently had not considered this. “Your assessment is correct. I did not notice this anomaly in my directive.” Orisa thought for a moment, then raised a finger when an idea suddenly came to her. “I believe I have a solution, however.”

 

Doomfist watched in morbid amazement as Orisa reached behind herself and tore off a panel of her titanium chassis from between her legs and discarded it with a big thunk. She now had a large hole with her internal wiring and machinery exposed. Several loose wires now dangled out, sparking with electricity.

 

Doomfist sat down and stared at the cold, hard tile of the airport floor. “But why?” he asked, deflated.

 

“It is not my place to know why my directives are as such,” explained Orisa. “I am simply following my programming.” She wiggled her gaping hole in anticipation, and a few more electronic components fell out of her. “Now please, Mr. Doomfist, commence the insertion as quickly as possible.”

 

“You poor thing,” mumbled Doomfist. “You really don't know. It's like this is normal to you. It's actually… rather sad.” He gripped a handful of Orisa's dangling cables and yanked hard on them, ripping a considerable amount of the omnic’s insides out of her. Her voice synthesis module made horrifying screeching static noises for a moment before her body fell limp.

 

“Well, I’m getting nowhere quickly,” thought Doomfist to himself. “I need a quicker way to eliminate everyone.” He pulled out his phone.

  


 

 

Chapter 4: The Fistfuck Hotline

 

It was about time to stop meeting people in person, he thought. He decided in some vain hope to start with the most humorless person he knew.

 

(Dialing Reaper)

 

“Hey,” greeted the deathly shadow. The fact that his greeting wasn't an insult or a complaint was already a bad sign.

 

“Hello Reaper,” replied Doomfist, cautiously. “There's a bit of a situation going on right now.”

 

“I know,” sassed Reaper. “The situation is that your fist isn't in my ass right now. That's going to be a problem.”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Dialing Widowmaker)

 

“One fist. One ass.” A smooching noise.

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Dialing Moira)

 

“Hello Doomfist. I expected you would be calling.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“I recently began to fantasize about your magnificent gauntlet entering my posterior, and I hypothesized that-”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Dialing Sombra)

 

“Hey there, big boy,” greeted Sombra playfully.

 

“I don't have time for your flirting,” grumbled Doomfist. “Just tell me, if by any chance, you could have hacked everyone's minds or something. Or whether that can even be done.”

 

“Maybe,” replied Sombra coyly. “Everything and everyone can be hacked. What would make you think I’d do that, though?”

 

“Because everyone is trying to get me to… shove my fist in their behinds,” Doomfist struggled. It hurt to acknowledge it.

 

“No way, that would be loco of me,” explained Sombra. “If I did that, then I wouldn't be able to have your big, sexy fist all to myself.” Audible lip licking.

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

Doomfist sighed. “That’s all of my allies. Incredible. Well, I might as well call everyone else I know.” His faith in humanity was at an all time low.

 

(Dialing McCree)

 

“This ass ain’t gonna fist itself.”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Dialing Reinhardt)

 

“One hundred percent German asshole!”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Dialing Lucio)

 

“Give yourself to the anus!”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Dialing D.Va)

 

“All systems operational. D.Va: Ready for fisting.”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Dialing Junkrat and Roadhog, group chat)

 

“Oi, I hope you rang ‘cause you're looking to wallop me fanny,” greeted Junkrat.

 

“What he said,” agreed Roadhog.

 

(Hang up, block numbers)

 

(Dialing Mercy)

 

“Ah, it’s a good thing you called,” she greeted. “I have your fist's prescription, Mr. Doomfist, one asshole per day. Please come see me to pick up your medication.”

 

“No.”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Dialing Brigitte)

 

“What do you think you’re doing? Get in my butt already!”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Calling Pharah)

 

“Put your security in my hands. And your fist in my ass.”

 

“...Should I even bother calling your mother?”

 

“...Nah.”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

(Calling Torbjorn)

 

“All this standing around when there's a rump to be clobbered!”

 

(Hang up, block number)

 

Doomfist’s arms hung at his sides. “Well, that's everyone,” he exhaustedly said to himself. He stared at the floor for a few moments. Just as he was about to put his phone away, it began to ring. He answered it.

 

“Who is this?” asked Doomfist.

 

“Me again,” replied Sombra.

 

“Didn’t I block you, you annoying girl?”

 

“Hacker, remember?”

 

“Right.”

 

Doomfist crumpled his phone with his gauntlet. It came out looking like a sheet of dried seaweed. He let it fall to the floor, and shortly followed. Some staff came by to forklift Orisa's remains into a dumpster, but other than that, he was mostly left alone. Sprawled out on the airport floor, he laid there, contemplating his life and all the decisions he had ever made, until it was dark and the lights all went out. Just as the sounds of the passing crowds had faded and silence had finally come to the place, the clink-clank of a large metal object became audible, evidently heading toward him. Doomfist sat up. A rolling robot approached, which transformed into a walking turret when it was near.

 

“Are you some sort of airport security robot sent to kill me?” asked Doomfist. “Because if you are, then please do.”

 

The top hatch of the robot flipped up, and out jumped the oversized hamster, Hammond, who waved happily.

 

“Go on,” prompted Doomfist not even raising an eyebrow.

 

Hammond bent over and spread his furry cheeks. His asshole was so tiny that Doomfist couldn't even see it through the hair.

 

“Okay, I’m officially done,” announced Doomfist. He charged his gauntlet to full capacity, and a little more for good measure, and performed an extra-strength meteor strike straight into outer space. “There's only one place I can go to get away from all of this: The Moon.”

  


 

 

Chapter 5: Horizon Lunar Colon

 

The stars glinted off of Doomfist’s cybernetic augments as he soared through the void of space. The world he had once known and loved was dead, but he felt a peace coming over him as he left it behind. Watching the moon come closer and closer, the abandoned base of his enemies’ operations started to come into view. The base which would serve as his new home.

 

Finally, Doomfist entered the moon’s empty atmosphere. One quick somersault and he impacted the moon’s surface, leaving a crater at his feet and a plume of moon dust in his wake. Rising to his feet, he stood facing one of the moon base’s airlock bays. After few steps forward, he pried open the shutter effortlessly, bending the metal with a horrible screech. He stepped in and sealed the airlock behind him with just as much ease, but left it in inoperable condition.

 

Doomfist began to stroll about the facility, inspecting its interior. The massive, high-tech moon base was sprawling and mostly barren, but oddly well-kept. Scientific equipment still merrily displayed their data readouts while various machinery hummed along. Grow-beds provided a food supply, and there was no shortage of comfy chairs or computers to mess around with. The solitude was welcoming and comforting. Just as Doomfist dared to begin relaxing, a nearby door suddenly opened and through it walked a gorilla donning a research outfit and some sort of holographic tablet.

 

“You!” scoffed Doomfist, recognizing Winston. “The monkey with the overgrown brain! How could I forget about you?” Doomfist cracked his knuckles and eyed the genius ape warily, knowing not to take any chances with the only Overwatch hero who could hope to match his strength.

 

“Akande Ogundimu,” greeted Winston. He had a look of concern about him. “I’m not surprised you came here, all things considered. Things have really gotten out of hand.”

 

Doomfist’s eyebrows raised. “So you’re aware of what's going on? And you’re not crazy like everyone else?”

 

“It doesn’t appear to be that way,” reasoned Winston. “There’s certainly some sort of insanity going around, but you can rest assured, I’m not among those affected.” The gorilla began to flip through notes and charts on his tablet. “It seems that just about everyone associated with Overwatch as an operation, affiliated or opposed, is experiencing severe delusions. The effects vary between individuals, but they all have the same basic trait in common, which is, that they, well… you know what I’m referring to. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

Doomfist was more than intrigued at the possibility of an explanation. “What do you mean?! You’re practically the world’s greatest scientist, you have to have some idea of what's going on!”

 

“Unfortunately not,” attested Winston. “I can draw a few parallels to the propaganda virus that was once used as a brainwashing weapon by Null Sector terrorists, but that only affected Omnics. The majority of the brains affected right now are organic.”

 

Doomfist clenched his fists and persisted. “Well, do you have any idea who is responsible for this? I’d love to get my hands on them.”

 

Winston frowned. “None at all, unfortunately. I can’t even say if it’s the work of an individual, something else like a virus, or an unexplainable phenomenon.”

 

“So that's it then,” decided Doomfist. “You and I are the only sane ones left and we’re stuck here on the moon, nothing we can do.”

 

“Not entirely true,” assured Winston. “I’m still in the middle of researching all of this. You’re welcome to stay here for the time being,” He closed his holographic tablet and adjusted his glasses. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s against my better judgement to trust you, but in a situation like this, I think I can let bygones be bygones. Now loosen up already, you’re a nervous wreck.”

 

Doomfist relaxed his stance and lowered his gauntlet, deciding Winston was right. “I appreciate it,” thanked Doomfist, feeling genuinely hopeful for the first time in a while. “It's good to talk to someone who isn't crazy, even if you are just a big ape.” He slouched his shoulders and stared at the floor of the moonbase corridor, still coming down from a bad bout of stress and doubt.

 

Winston put a gorilla hand on Doomfist's shoulder and sighed in pity. “I can't imagine how it must feel to be in your situation. Everyone making such unreasonable demands of you and displaying completely deplorable behaviour. It's got to be…”

 

“Infuriating,” completed Doomfist.

 

“Frightening?” suggested Winston.

 

“Humiliating,” added Doomfist, hands shaking.

 

“Alienating?” offered Winston, rubbing Doomfist's shoulder.

 

“Depressing,” finished Doomfist, tears welling up in his eyes. “I just wish things would go back to the way they were.”

 

“It's okay, buddy,” assured Winston, pulling Doomfist into a big gorilla hug. Doomfist immediately began weeping into his arms. “They will. We’ll figure this out. Now let's get you some hot tea.”

 

Doomfist sniffled. “I’d like that,” he said between sobs. Winston propped Doomfist up with his big, beefy right arm and the two walked out through the door that Winston entered. It shut behind them with an airy swish.

 

-

 

“Here,” offered Winston, extending a cup of steamy-hot herbal infusion. “Chamomile with honey.”

 

Doomfist accepted the warm beverage eagerly. “Thanks,” he replied, taking a quick sip before sighing and sprawling out on a massive and cushy recliner. Its gorilla-rated integrity held up well under his massive weight. A nearby neon-blue energy coil provided a comforting furnace-like warming glow, and the nearby computers provided a gentle hum which made for pleasant white noise.

 

“So, let's start from the beginning then,” suggested Winston, settling into his own chair and taking a sip of his tea. “What happened first?”

 

“Well, I was rampaging through King's Row in the afternoon when an Overwatch helicopter showed up,” recalled Doomfist. “Tracer popped out and after a brief conversation, her pants were down and she was asking me to fist her.”

 

“I see,” commented Winston. “And what did you do?”

 

“Well, not what she asked,” clarified Doomfist. “It seemed like some sort of insult, so I punched the shit out of her. Then Soldier 76 showed up and did the same thing, which only made me angrier, so I fucked him up as well. Then I went to get a drink, to get the image of his grey wrinkly balls out of my head.” He shuddered. “I still haven't quite forgotten that sight.”

 

“Sounds pretty unpleasant,” noted Winston. “Did they give any indication that they knew they were making highly illogical demands?”

 

“Looking back on it... no,” decided Doomfist. “They seemed pretty eager to put themselves in the way of injury. And on top of that, they left the helicopter unpiloted so it just kind of drifted into a building and exploded.”

 

“Did you encounter anyone else?” asked Winston.

 

“Yes, a few more,” replied Doomfist. “But it went pretty much the same way. Everyone showed a similar degree of insanity.”

 

Winston pondered for a moment, scratching his chin. “Perhaps they’re some kind of hive-mind. Did any of them display hostility toward each other?”

 

“Indeed, Hanzo and Genji were fighting each other over me,” cited Doomfist. “Also, I think Reaper may have threatened to kill me if I didn’t fist him. And Zarya managed to kill herself, which was rather shocking.”

 

Winston cleared his throat nervously. “...did anyone say anything peculiar?”

 

“They all did,” assured Doomfist. “Everyone acted like a badly-written parody of themselves. Mercy gave my fist a prescription of one asshole per day. Implying hers, of course.”

 

“That’s awful,” remarked Winston. “Well, the only other thing I can think of is maybe this affliction only affects humanoid minds. It might make sense, since Omnics are based off of humans.”

 

“Nope,” denied Doomfist. “Your hamster friend from the lunar colony had the hots for me as well.”

 

“Then I just don’t know,” sighed Winston with an exasperated shrug. “I’ve got no idea why I’m the only one you’ve encountered who’s still sane.” The two stared into their teacups, perplexed by their circumstances. They sipped in silence for a minute, until suddenly a thought struck Doomfist.

 

“About that,” he prompted. “You’re being awfully friendly, aren’t you?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” responded Winston. “You are my guest, after all.”

 

“I don’t think that’s all there is to it,” argued Doomfist, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re so sure that you’re sane, then what’s your supporting evidence?”

 

“Well that’s easy,” claimed Winston. “All of the others have the same thing in common. They’re asking you to perform a completely impossible and unreasonable task.” He set down his tea cup and stood up out of his chair. “I’m obviously different than all of them, which makes me the only one who’s sane. Can’t you see why...?” He motioned with his hands, as if requesting a response.

 

Doomfist eyed Winston warily and did not respond.

 

“... _because_ , I’m the only one whose ass is even remotely large enough to fit that gauntlet inside. It’s so obvious.” He patted his prodigious posterior proudly.

 

Doomfist clenched his smaller fist, shattering his tea cup and spilling hot liquid all over his recliner. His teeth clenched tightly, almost enough to crack them as well. His larger fist crumpled the recliner’s arm like a tissue. Multiple veins bulged in his forehead. His eyes went bloodshot. His breath accelerated. “Hyyrrrkk…” managed to escape his mouth, as he glared at Winston like a freshly branded bull.

 

“If you have any doubts, I can even do this…” Winston took off his glasses and roared, causing his fur to turn a flush red and his body to grow to twice its size. His research outfit conveniently fell off, revealing his entire gargantuan, furry, muscular body. He bent over, supporting himself on his recliner, and squeezed one of his own hairy ass cheeks.

 

Doomfist’s eyes began to water as he continued to stare, hyper-ventilating. “...guhhhh...” he managed to utter.

 

“And to be honest, I can hardly take any more of this foreplay.” Winston sucked on one of his fingers for a bit before taking it out, a small strand of saliva persisting. He then stuck it deep between his furry cheeks and smeared the saliva all over his anus, lubing it up.

 

“Hrrnnnk…” grunted Doomfist, going cross-eyed. His gauntlet twitched wildly.

 

“So, would you mind getting started? I’m rather horny, and I haven’t gotten off in a while.” Winston wiggled and flexed his butt in a manner that he probably thought was seductive.

 

Doomfist somehow found the coordination to look Winston in the eyes and raised his gauntlet, clenching it into a fist and shaking it in Winston’s face. He frowned deeply in protest. The gauntlet’s diameter was clearly still two or three times wider than Winston’s ass had any chance of stretching to.

 

“Fine, fine, I get it.” conceded Winston, reluctantly. “A finger, then. I’m sure I can manage that.”

 

Doomfist raised the index finger of his gauntlet, measured it up, and looked back and forth from it to Winston’s ready asshole. His breathing slowed, his tension settled, and his demeanor became calm. The last little bit of hope he had left him entirely. There was no more denying that this was his fate. “...okay,” he agreed, weakly.

 

“Alright!!” shouted Winston, giddily. He squirmed in anticipation.

 

Doomfist stood up out of his chair and inhaled deeply, then exhaled. He stepped forward, planting his sights and his smaller hand on Winston’s butt. The gorilla shivered in anticipation. “Here we go, I guess,” announced Doomfist with zero enthusiasm. He slowly poked the tip of his gauntlet’s index finger into Winston’s asshole.

 

“Ahh!” gasped Winston, clenching down hard on the cold, metal appendage. His butt was rather tight even around just one of Doomfist’s fingers.

 

Doomfist wiggled his finger around, prodding at the gorilla’s anus and loosening it up gradually. “You like that?” he asked, barely mouthing the words.

 

“Yeah,” replied Winston, looking back at Doomfist eagerly. “Go deeper.”

 

Doomfist obliged, gradually working his finger further into Winston. It eventually bottomed out at the knuckle, but not without a bit of resistance. Winston squirmed and his hips began to move a bit. Doomfist began to swish the finger around a bit, exploring the gorilla’s depths. “Feeling good?” he mumbled.

 

“Curl your finger forward a bit more,” requested Winston, enjoying this thoroughly. “You should be near the sweet spot.”

 

“Mhm,” agreed Doomfist, monotonously. He did as requested and formed a downward curve with his finger, the tip of which squished directly against the gorilla’s prostate.

 

“OOooohohhh, _Barrier Activated_ ~~” moaned Winston, his entire body shivering in delight. He lifted a leg up onto one of the recliner’s arms, making it easier for Doomfist to see his tiny erect penis.

 

“What does that even mean...?” asked Doomfist, rhetorically under his breath. It was obvious what needed to be done from this point onward. He began to slowly but firmly stroke Winston’s prostate with his finger, feeling the anal muscles contract around it rhythmically.

 

“AAaaahhhh, _Excuuuuse me for dropping in_ ~~” gasped Winston nonnsensically.

 

Doomfist sped up the strokes of his finger gradually and applied more pressure. Winston continued to recite random selections of his voice clips between moans, and his hips gyrated in rhythm with the stroking. Doomfist could feel the gorilla’s anus begin to get warmer and his contractions become stronger. After a minute, Doomfist felt like it was about time to get this over with. “Let’s give you a taste of this gauntlet’s true power.” Doomfist hated every word of what he had just said, but regardless, kicked the gyrations into overdrive. The gauntlet began to glow and whirr with the energy it normally exuded during a rocket punch, but this time the power was entirely focused in just the index finger, which began thrusting like a piston in a formula one car.

 

Winston shrieked with primal pleasure, gripping the recliner with his meaty hands. His entire body tensed under the overwhelming sensation of his prostate being decimated by the dynamo digit. His legs heaved, his back arched, and gorilla roars filled the moon base, causing everything not bolted down to shake. A few more seconds was all it took for his body to finally give way, and a glob of hot cum shot out of his two-inch dick, embedding itself in the recliner’s fabric. Then another, and another. The gorilla’s whole body swayed and thrusted with each spurt, completely overtaken by the pleasure. Even when Winston’s ejaculating stopped after several more spurts, the orgasm continued for another minute while Doomfist gradually slowed down his finger’s gyrating, until it was back down to a gentle stroke. As Winston’s tiny penis shriveled up and became lost among his hair, so did he, transforming back down to his normal size and hue. He curled up on the recliner, lost in the afterglow of his fantastic orgasm, and mumbled random voice lines to himself softly while rocking back and forth.

 

Eventually, when Winston seemed to have drifted off to sleep, Doomfist removed his finger from the gorilla’s ripe and thoroughly destroyed asshole. He stood back and observed his work. “Well, that’s the legacy of the Doomfist line of conquerors completely and utterly dishonored.” He sniffed at the finger and cringed at its pungent odor. “And I doubt I’m going to be having any successors of my own with the gauntlet in this state. Oh well.”

 

And with that, Doomfist clasped his gauntlet around his own head and squeezed very tightly.

 

The End


End file.
